In the wake of it, Boyd ran.

He wasn't, in general, the type to bolt, to turn tail and run away like a fox about to be treed. Strategic retreats from time to time, sure, practicality weighed against impulse and stubbornness, but there wasn't much practical in clawing his way out from under six feet of earth, dirt caked under his nails and filling his nose and blood soaked through his clothes while the rest of him remained intact. Wasn't much practical in being greeted topside by a man who grinned with teeth far too sharp despite the familiarity of the rest of him, smears of blood he knew was his streaked across the man's shirt. Bodies hung from the trees, men he'd known, men he'd tried to shepherd, some of them pale and lifeless, some of them merely limp, and he recoiled, disgusted and heartsick even as breath spasmed uselessly in his chest, as something dark and restless gnawed in his belly.

He didn't need to ask what had happened, he read the papers, watched the news, and Harlan hadn't been untouched anyway. Small town, quiet, of course the vampires had been eager to get a foothold, or at least make a place of their own within city limits, out in the hollers, places they could be accepted or at the very least ignored. He just hadn't expected it to hit quite so close to home.

He shook his head, tried to refuse, deny, but Bo cut him off. Spoke with reason, logic, spoke of mistakes and misunderstandings and by the end of it Boyd was so turned around he didn't know which way was up. He was at least sure he couldn't let it stand, that it was just another attempt to manipulate, but by the time Bo had finished saying his piece the gnawing had grown to intolerable and all the self-control in the world couldn't have stopped him when his daddy sliced open the vein of the closest poor unfortunate soul.

It filled some of the void, the black hole that sat where his stomach had been, warmed him from the inside like a good batch of moonshine, but after the first he dragged himself away, glared and spat because it wasn't right, manipulating things like this, wasn't right feeding off someone else like they were cattle, and he ran.

He didn't stop until he got to Raylan's, wasn't sure exactly what had even driven him there beyond the need for somebody who didn't hate him on principle, who wasn't intent on power games and manipulation. The gnawing didn't stray far, but he put it out of his mind for now, he just needed somewhere to go. He pounded on the door when he got there, leaned against painted metal while he waited, palm pressed against it.

STATS
» NAME: Boyd Crowder
» FANDOM: Justified
» CANON POINT: Season 3, episode 13, after getting thrown in jail for Devil's murder.
» AGE: Early 40s
» GENDER: Male
» ORIENTATION: Heterosexual
» COLLAR: Just a simple leather cord, without the pendant, and the knots are only decorative since the whole thing's just one band really.

KINKS
» YES: Multiple partners, control/denial (either direction), light bondage
» MAYBE: anything not under no is negotiable, just ask
» NO: Non-con, vore, puke/shit/urine
» PAIRING PREFERENCES: If you have any.

( EXTENDED PROFILE )